Bradley (right) and Tanner — The Boys (Image Credit: Mel Rothenburger)

By Mel Rothenburger

ARMCHAIR MAYOR

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IT’S MORNING, and Tanner stands in his paddock mournfully calling in hopes Bradley will answer. He wants Bradley to come sidling in from the hay field or around the corner from the barn, or maybe stepping out of the trailer so they can be re-united as has happened so many times before.

But Bradley doesn’t answer, because last Monday, on a beautiful bright morning, we had to say goodbye. The vet came and relieved him of all his aches, pains and ailments, and we buried him in the field he and Tanner had played in for so many years.

It came suddenly at the end. Brad was 35, celebrating his birthday only a week and half before. We loved that old horse. Though he was something of an introvert, he had a big personality, was always totally in charge, could be grumpy and stand-offish but was never mean.

When he got impatient, he’d tap his foot on the ground or on a gate to let you know to get with it — whether it be going for a ride or rustling up dinner. I always got a kick out of that trait.

“I’m working on it,” I’d tell him as I got his breakfast or dinner ready and he stood with his big mug hanging over the fence, pounding the ground with that front hoof.

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Yet, at other times, he showed amazing patience. I remember coming home one day and finding him with his foot stuck in a page wire fence I hadn’t maintained properly. He didn’t panic or struggle, just stood there, maybe for hours, waiting for me to come home.

He wasn’t the best-looking horse on the planet — he had a bit of a pot belly in those early years that leveled out over time — but he had a handsome way of carrying himself. His trot was bone-jarring but his lope was easy and smooth. In summer his coat gleamed magnificently.

Bradley came to us courtesy of my daughter Edyn, who picked him out of the herd at a horse camp. “It was love at first sight,” she once told me.

So, of course, we bought Bradley for her. But, life has unpredictable turns and I ended up doing most of the riding. Many was the weekend or evening after work that Braddie and I took to the trails behind our acreage. On the straight stretches we’d open ‘er up and I’d lean forward and pat him on the neck and encourage him as we raced along. I think it was during those times, as we shared a sense of freedom, that our connection was strongest.

We rode in several Cattle Drives of the ‘90s, too, though he didn’t much like crowds and suffered the indignity of having a ribbon tied to his tail as a warning to other riders not to get too close.

Tanner, our buckskin (he’s 30 now), came along not long after Brad, and he was the perfect foil — a sociable, energetic guy who accepted that Brad was boss. They were The Boys. Living with animals is both joyful and cruel. Nine years ago, I wrote a column called “Horses deserve better than we give,” about the inhumane way unwanted or spent horses are slaughtered for meat, and said that when the time came, it would never be the fate of either of our Boys. “I’ll call a vet to come and do what’s necessary at home, where familiar surroundings and kind hands will allow them to leave this world without fear, panic or pain.”

We kept that promise for Brad, though it hurt horribly to make the final call.

Through his long life we nursed him through eye infections, lameness, scrapes, tick bites, viruses, tooth aches and a particularly gruelling and frightening bout of colic. When his teeth wore down so much he couldn’t chew grass or hay properly, we put him on a diet of mash and kibble, three squares a day, and he thrived on it for several years until the end.

“Come and get it, Boys, dinner’s ready!” I’d yell at him and Tanner, and they’d come running.

But now there’s just one boy. Tanner sniffs the last spot Bradley stood, paces around the patch of disturbed soil under which Bradley now rests. Sometimes, he’ll break into a run but circle back, give a snort and then, just stand, as he’s doing now when I look out the window.

It used to be that horses weren’t thought capable of emotions. The wisdom was that they live in the moment, unencumbered by the everyday worries and complicated feelings we humans have.

But that’s wrong. I don’t know if horses have any concept of death but they certainly do of loss. Horses grieve, and right now Tanner is mourning the loss of his best friend and constant companion of 26 years. During that entire time, they were almost never separated. He knows things have gone wrong. His family has been torn apart.

Horses are herd animals and they get lonely. They say you should always have at least two horses, but my riding days are long behind me and a younger horse would outlive me. Theoretically, the next best thing is to find a new companion, like a goat or a donkey.

But nothing can replace Bradley. They ate together, groomed each other, swatted flies from each other as they stood nose to tail, horsed around and stood or lay in the sun together. When one slept, the other stood watch over him. Life was good when you could go for a run, roll in the dust, contentedly chew on your feed with your buddy.

Maybe I’m projecting too much of my own grief onto Tanner right now but I think we underestimate the feelings of the animals we live with. Bradley’s humans are left only with pictures and fond memories, and fond memories are over-rated — they carry the pain of knowing that everything that went into those memories is gone.

I don’t know if Tanner will keep the good, long years with Bradley in his heart the way we will, or can reflect on what used to be, compared with what’s now.

I just know he’s in pain and we need to find a way to help him through it.

Mel Rothenburger is a former mayor of Kamloops and a retired newspaper editor. He writes five commentaries a week for CFJC Today, publishes the ArmchairMayor.ca opinion website, and is a director on the Thompson-Nicola Regional District board. He can be reached at mrothenburger@armchairmayor.ca.

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Editor’s Note: This opinion piece reflects the views of its author, and does not necessarily represent the views of CFJC Today or the Jim Pattison Broadcast Group.